entanglement

It was an interesting day today
I rode my bike to work after drinking my rationed coffee.  At first I was pushing myself, one foot, one yard, one mile, but then the blood started circulating, having taken a day off to swim, my legs hurt but it was not so much as to distract me.
I took the dog for a walk in the park and saw the migratory birds.
I took a picture of a red headed woodpecker and a hawk that was hunting in the early afternoon, but too far away from either to get a good shot.
It was hot when I finished the bike ride home, a slower and more painful ride up hill.  Riding a bike gives you a better feel for the steady slopes than driving or even walking.  But afterward, hot as I was, with the strange sense that accompanies me whenever I have time to think, I jumped into the pool even though I had no idea what the temperature would be.  Shocking.  But later, after the walk, I jumped in again and swam some laps, so if it stays sunny I may do my swim from home which I'd really like.
My first day in the real pool was not bad.  The pool had a person in it when I started and another came later, but both left while I was still swimming and it seemed as if much of the time I was alone with my thoughts which ran to quantum entanglement and my entanglement with you.
I feel like I solved nothing, but just thinking about dealing with these issues makes me wonder what it would be like if I was supported, and not fighting these battles alone.  I spend an unhealthy amount of time alone I think sometimes, and yet I want to go into the wilderness and be further removed from other people.
As I sit here drinking water and watching the last light of the day fading, the clouds remind me that there are many who will face danger this evening, people who will wake up with their lives in turmoil and their possessions in ruins around them.  This reminds me that outside of the storms in our relatively quiet hemisphere, many people without opportunity will be sleeping in the dust tonight.
And yet, when I think of them and how absurd we are that we do so little to improve our lots or those who are with us, my thoughts return to you and my own sense of loss and the peace of the evening is mixed with an anger at mankind and a melancholy that I accept as a part of my life for now.
The ship in the book I'm reading was originally named the Pandora, and the moral of the box story is the existence of hope.  We survive sleeping in the dust and storms, personal and external, by hoping for something.  Some hope for forgetting, but I only hope to remember.